Tears of Blood Read online

  A sigh from behind her brought her attention back to the elders.

  "We’ll be lucky if he even manages to be a decent cleric," said nimbus.

  The others nodded solemnly. Then windshield glasses added, "As many nephilim as we’ve lost in just my lifetime, I had such high hopes."

  "Stop, friends," said bouffant. "We are not alone. Come out, little one. We know you’re there."

  Annie’s stomach swooped. Face burning, she stepped out from behind the column.

  "Eavesdropping, were you?" bouffant asked her, scowling.

  Annie gulped and nodded. No point in lying. She’d already been caught.

  "Why?" bouffant asked, her expression more unwelcoming than ever.

  Instead of answering the question, Annie posed one of her own. "You were talking about Josiah, weren’t you?"

  "What concern is that of yours?" the elder snapped.

  "He’s my friend," she retorted, refusing to be cowed. "There’s nothing wrong with him."

  "Oh, child. If only that were true," windshield glasses stepped over to her and placed one hand, heavy as a whole ham, on her slender shoulder. "But don’t worry. We’ll train him up. He’ll become a warrior yet. Believe it."

  "Oh, I do," Annie replied, pushing a lock of bushy light brown hair out of her face and boldly meeting each set of eyes; blue, gray, green, with her own dark brown ones. "He’ll be the best of all of us. At least, as long as you refuse to let me train. After all, we have women senators and women ambassadors. Why not women warriors?"

  "Now, now," windshield glasses patted her head soothingly. "When you get older, you’ll understand. Battles are no place for a girl, and the one we’re facing is so terrible. You’ll be glad to hide away in the tower."

  "Maybe you will," she retorted, jerking her head away from his hand, "but no matter what it takes, I’ll be on the field with the warriors."

  "Watch your tone," bouffant snapped, but the two men laughed indulgently and shooed her away. Sulking, Annie crept back to target practice just in time to see Josiah fire another wild shot. This time he remained standing, but the bullet went high above the target, over the stone wall at the far side of the courtyard, and embedded itself in a pine tree growing out of the hillside.

  "Oh for Heaven’s sake," Annie sighed. She walked right up to Josiah and wrenched the gun from his hand, pushing him down with a nudge of her shoulder. "Do it like this." She aimed at the target and pulled the trigger, burying a bullet just to the left of the bull’s-eye. "That’s how you fire a kill shot," she told her friend. Then she tossed the pistol to the grass beside him and stalked back into the compound.

  ***

  Three days later

  Lucien stretched out to his full height. Not used to traveling by car, he’d been unprepared for the tight quarters. His almost seven foot frame could hardly be squeezed into the cramped interior. And then he’d been driven almost a full day without the chance to extend his limbs. This was the last phase of his punishment. During the long drive, he’d remembered, over and over, the day it had begun.

  He’d arrived, ten years earlier, at the compound. It was in this white block in the Montana wilderness where all clerics lived, where the nephilim went to heal from injuries and rest after long campaigns. This time, he’d done the unthinkable. He’d arrived with an infant in his arms. The son of a naphil. The day was etched forever in his memory.

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  "Stop that pounding, I’m coming," a cranky-sounding female voice responded to his knock. The door flew open to reveal Pearl Smith, a beautiful biracial girl who’d had a crush on Lucien when she was young. Two years married, she was expecting. Her belly swelled tremendously. She must be about due to deliver.

  "Lucien!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him. He turned slightly to the side, protecting his precious bundle from her exuberance.

  "What do you have there?" she asked.

  "I need to see your father," he replied, ignoring her question.

  Pearl nodded, her masses of light brown curls dancing with her movement. "Come on." She grabbed his arm and led him to the conference room where the elder clerics, all seven of them, were seated around a wide oak table. Surrounding them on all the walls of the room, shelf after built-in wooden shelf groaned with books, all ancient, moldy, and warped. On the table, a scroll on lambskin had been carefully laid out. The margins of the parchment, as well as the spines of many of the books, bore a strange symbol embossed into the material and gilded. A flared base tapered to a sharp point, like a fence finial. In the center, a gold circle was centered on the spike. Two blades, like back-curving daggers, crossed just below the circle, their ‘handles’ affixed to the spike before crossing and curving down towards the base and upwards toward the point. It was the symbol of the incubus, he had been told. Though he’d never much cared for prophecy.

  Heads of gray, white, silver, and one salt-and-pepper leaned over the treasured document. The shades had been closed to prevent sunlight from damaging the crumbling material, and only a small lamp illuminated the room. The darkness seemed to close in on Lucien like a physical touch. He longed for the hot, clean air of the desert, lightly perfumed with cactus flowers and Sarahi’s sweet scent.

  At the sound of the door bursting open, the four men and three women turned.

  "Pearl," Mr. Smith, the head elder, exclaimed. "You can’t just interrupt a meeting like that..."

  "But, Father, Lucien has come. He needs to talk to you."

  Fourteen eyes turned his direction and skewered him.

  "Well, Naphil, what is so very important you couldn’t wait a few minutes to brief us?"

  "Mr. Smith, I..." He closed his eyes, unsure how to continue.

  "You what, Lucien?" the man said, rising and crossing to him, laying a hand on his arm. His eyes fell on the baby. "And who is this little fellow? Just a few weeks old, I’ll warrant. Goodness, he looks like Pearl did at that age. Whose baby is this, Lucien?"

  "He’s uh... mine," Lucien managed to force out at last.

  Mr. Smith looked askance at the him, his brown eyes huge with shock. Though nowhere near the age of the rest of the elders seated around the table, the force of his personality showed he would be in charge in due time. He had leadership stamped all over him. The surprised eyes crinkled at the corners and the full lips fell open in a loud laugh.

  "Yours? Lucien, you goof! I never knew nephilim had a sense of humor."

  "Um, we don’t," he replied.

  The laughter died instantly. Eight humans inhaled sharply.

  "Lucien?" Pearl asked in a trembling voice.

  Mr. Smith was still examining the baby. Josiah yawned, his tiny mouth cracking wide. And then he opened his eyes and regarded the middle-aged gentleman with a puzzled expression.

  Mr. Smith’s eyebrows drew together. "He is yours. I can see that. So, Lucien, second in command of all nephilim, a general in the army of half-angels, has broken his vows. Who, may I ask, is his mother?"

  "That I will not say," Lucien replied. "But she did not abandon our child by choice. She’s in a... dangerous situation." He looked down into the green eyes which so resembled his beloved. His heart clenched and his eyes burned. He looked up at the elder-in-training, his former sidekick, and let his desperation show. "I have broken my vow. I admit it. Punish me any way you want, but please. Help me with my son."

  Mr. Smith shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but Pearl jumped in ahead of him.

  "Of course, Lucien. Of course. He’ll need to be fed. I think... I can get one of the other mothers to feed him until..." She placed her hand on her belly. "And then I’ll care for him myself. Nurse him myself. I promise you, no harm will come to your baby while I live." She leaned up. Lucien bent to receive the gentle touch of her lips on his cheek. He closed his eyes against a flood of relief, but a single tear escaped. With one arm holding Josiah, and the other around Pearl, he was unable to wipe it away, and it slipped down the length of his cheek and dropped from his c
hin to the floor.

  "Lucien."

  He blinked, shaken from the deep memory. He stood before the same white stone wall he’d seen hundreds of times since the decision had been made to transfer one fifth of the nephilim to North America, in the year 1712. This had been a center of angelic power long before even the distant cities of Billings, Helena, and Glendive had been built. From there, it had been easy enough to pop over to Virginia and keep an eye on the English settlers, to Louisiana to monitor the French, and to the southwest to watch the Spaniards for signs of demonic infiltration. Even now, they remained in relative isolation, despite the intrusiveness of the modern world. The nephilim preferred it that way, as did the clerics, an order of warrior priests and scholars who supported and fought alongside their semi-angelic counterparts. Without the clerics, the nephilim could well have been wiped out by now. And it was to them Lucien had submitted himself for punishment.

  Ten years had been his sentence. Ten years at a monastery in Santa Fe, among human monks, far from his work, his friends, his son. A decade not knowing what had become of Sarahi. How it had gnawed at him, the fate of his beloved and of his child being completely out of his hands. He had dedicated himself to the training prescribed for him, the deprivation and the silence. But now that time was past. Someday he would find Sarahi, but now he needed to see Josiah. He wondered as he followed the young cleric who had driven the car if the boy had grown like a human or like a naphil. At ten, a human child would be poised on the brink of adolescence. Half-angels matured much more slowly. Lucien had experienced puberty at the age of forty, just after the Great Flood.

  The cleric opened a heavy wooden door and stood beside it, urging Lucien to enter.

  "Thank you," he told the boy. "What is your name?"

  "Tom," the youth replied, tossing a shaggy bit of brown hair out of his eyes.

  Lucien nodded to Tom and entered the compound. The letter he’d received told him to meet the elder council in their meeting room, so he went directly there.

  Inside, Mr. Smith, who had aged well beyond the decade Lucien had been away, even factoring in human life expectancies, stood beside two children, a boy and a girl. Though the girl was taller, the two looked enough alike to be siblings,. That is, until their faces turned up to him. One, with warm brown eyes and delicate features, resembled Mr. Smith. It struck Lucien that this was probably the baby Pearl had been carrying when he brought Josiah. The other was clearly his own son. Those piercing green eyes told him everything he needed to know.

  "Josiah?"

  "Father?" The little boy looked at him and he looked back in a long, long silence. A silence which contained within it apology, grief, longing, and fear. Then the child, not restrained by millennia of training, broke composure and dashed across the room. Lucien caught him right up off his feet and squeezed him. By all heaven, he smelled like Sarahi. Lucien’s throat burned.

  "Don’t go away, again, please, Father," the little boy said.

  "No, son. I’m here. I’m here now."

  Chapter 9

  Sarahi crept into the chamber, trying to remain unobtrusive. It was necessary every so often to appear in the presence of her mother and pay homage, leave offerings, but she hated it. Each time she faced the demoness, it reminded her of her son, lost to her, perhaps for good, and of the naphil she had loved. If she had a choice, she would leave and never come back. But she could not. The danger was too great. Too much depended on her remaining above reproach.

  At least it was an easy place to feed. She moved through the dim light of a black fire roaring in the center of the room. It gave off neither heat nor light, and the chill was oppressive. She clutched her scarf to her head. She could feel her eyes glowing in the darkness. Like a cat, she could reflect even the faintest scrap of light. From the dark corners of the room, other lamp-like eyes glowed. Approaching the altar, she laid down her offering of flowers and fruit.

  A familiar sound rang through the room. Sarahi turned against her will. She’d seen the spectacle thousands of times. As expected, her mother was being serviced by one of her drones. Another succubus would soon be joining their ranks. Sarahi smirked. She now knew no matter how many drones her sisters brought, no incubus would ever be born here. Only the combination of succubus and naphil was potent enough to create that legendary creature.

  Her heart clenched at the memory of her lover and their son, lost to her all these years. To create a world where they could all be together, she would sacrifice most anything.

  She looked towards the throne on its dais again. Lilith appeared to be a lovely creature. Almost eight feet tall, her snowy skin was possessed of an internal luminescence. She glowed like light brought to life. Her eyes, solid green and completely lacking in pupils, shone with pleasure. Today, she sprawled, one leg dropped over each arm of the heavy wooden throne chair with serpents whose emerald eyes glinted dully. Spread wide, she accepted the enthusiastic possession of a young, blond man with a muscular physique. His back was to the room as he copulated with the demon queen, his buttocks thrusting obscenely.

  Ironically, though this young man was essentially dead, his lust was still potent, filling the room. Sarahi’s hunger was instantly appeased. It was a rotten way to feed, but an effective one.

  The young man groaned in completion and Lilith shoved him away with her bare foot. He stumbled, regained his footing, and stood naked beside her, his genitals gleaming in the aftermath of the encounter.

  The demoness stretched luxuriously and lowered her legs to the floor, sitting up tall, her naked body glowing in the darkness. To many, she would appear beautiful, especially nude like this. Her scarlet nipples gleamed like rubies, her eyes reflected the light of the fire. But Sarahi did not see her mother as beautiful. She saw only the insatiable lust for power. To have so much and appreciate so little... Sarahi would have been content to live out her endless existence in a travel trailer at the edge of the desert with her lover and her son. That had been a blessed life for the short time she’d had it. She wanted it back.

  "Sarahi," the deep, cold, resonant voice carried through the room. Lilith recovered quickly from her exertions.

  "Mother," her voice had been carefully schooled by centuries of experience into the perfect degree of groveling submission.

  "Come here, my little one."

  She approached the throne nervously.

  "Take off that foolish scarf."

  Sarahi dropped her shawl around her shoulders, letting her scarlet hair spill free. She suddenly felt more naked than the unclad demonesses all around her.

  Lilith rose from her throne, towering over her tiny daughter, staring down at her with displeased eyes. Sarahi bowed her head.

  "Why is it, my dear, that you never bring me any drones? All your sisters have done it. All but you. Why?"

  It was a good thing she’d been anticipating the question or she would have had no idea what to say.

  She willed herself to look ashamed and said, "I am sorry, mother. I can never get a man to stay with me long enough."

  "What a pathetic succubus you are, Sarahi. I can’t imagine how you came from me. Bringing you into the world was a waste of my time." Lilith sighed in deep disgust and beckoned. "Come closer. I have a task for you."

  Sarahi suppressed a sigh of her own and stepped up to the dais. Lilith’s long, black-taloned hand shot out, catching her around the throat, claws digging into her flesh.

  "You must try harder, little one. If you do not provide me with what I need, you’re no further use to me, and I might just decide to devour you. Do you understand?" Oddly for such dark words, her tone was light, as though threatening her daughter with cannibalistic destruction were no great matter.

  "Yes, Mother," Sarahi replied, her voice as neutral as she could make it around the crushing pressure.

  The claws loosened. The little succubus made no move to step back. She had not been invited to do so. Instead, she waited, apparently in perfect peace with whatever end her mother had planned fo
r her.

  Lilith turned towards her drone. "Come," she said. He approached.

  "Sarahi, fetch my cup."

  Sarahi hurried to obey the command, her stomach clenching in disgust over what she knew was coming. She stepped close to her mother. She wished there was some way to prevent this, but there was nothing. And sadly, what was at stake was more important than this one life.

  The demon queen rose to her feet and approached her meal. He was much smaller than her, his nearly six feet insignificant against her towering height. She grasped his shoulders in her clawed hands and lifted him.

  For a moment, as Sarahi watched in horror, his blue eyes, suddenly filled with awareness, shot around the room. She could see the fear in his expression. And then the demoness opened her mouth. Long, inward curving fangs extended from her gums and she sank them deep into his unguarded throat. She yanked her head back, tearing out an obscene hunk of flesh, and blood sprayed, rolling down her bosom in a scarlet river. Everywhere the blood touched her, it glowed in the light of her bioluminescence. She chewed the mouthful and swallowed it, licking blood from her lips with relish, and then nodding to her daughter. Sarahi extended the golden chalice beneath the twitching corpse of her mother’s latest victim and caught the spilling tide as best she could. It sprayed across her face, running down like the tears she didn’t dare to shed.